Circumstances
by seimaisin
Summary: After a darkspawn battle, Nathaniel is injured, Bethany is embarrassed, and Oghren and Sigrun are highly entertained.


Bethany lost sight of Nathaniel halfway through the battle. One moment, he was there, hanging back at the edge of the main fight, aiming arrow after steady arrow at the darkspawn that swarmed Oghren and Sigrun. Then, she turned to deal with a couple of stragglers storming her position - a blast of ice followed by a couple of well-placed spirit bolts did the trick - and when she turned to look in his direction again, he was gone.

She didn't have time to worry - and told herself she didn't need to. He'd been a Warden longer than her, had been fighting on a regular basis when she was still sitting in Lothering, learning herbalism and gossiping about the local farm boys with friends. Nathaniel had survived worse battles than this; this was a mere skirmish, as Oghren declared when the last darkspawn was dispatched. "I could've done this with a hand behind my back and my pants around my ankles," he declared.

"Thank you for keeping your pants where they belong," Sigrun said, rolling her eyes as she wiped off her blades.

Bethany chuckled, but when she looked away, she saw Nathaniel on the ground, half-hidden by a nearby rock formation. Thankfully, he was obviously alive - and in pain, judging by the noises he was making. Bethany hurried over and knelt next to him. "What happened?"

"Bastard stabbed me in the leg," he said through gritted teeth.

"That's what you get for wearing a skirt," Oghren said from somewhere behind Bethany.

Nathaniel's suggestion as to what Oghren could do with himself was brief, but probably anatomically impossible. Bethany ignored both of them as she pushed Nathaniel's armor out of the way to take a look at the wound. Nathaniel had managed to wrap a scrap of his undertunic around his thigh, stemming the bleeding, but the cloth was soaked red. When she unwrapped the cloth, she sniffed and made a face. "Not a bad wound," she said, "but I think there's some poison in there making it worse."

"I can feel it," Nathaniel said. "Can you do anything? I don't think I can walk like this."

She nodded slowly. "My healing isn't the best," she warned, "but I think I can get it fixed up enough to get you back to the Keep. You'll probably have a scar, though."

"Great. I can add it to my collection."

An image appeared in Bethany's mind, unbidden - Nathaniel, back at their last camp, shirtless and tending to another wound. She'd seen the scars crisscrossing his back, and had fought the urge to touch, to put her hands on his back and trace the faint lines from shoulder to torso … _and this isn't the time to think about that_, she told herself firmly. "Hand me a lyrium potion," she said to one of the dwarves standing over her shoulder. A moment later, a vial was pressed into her outstretched hand, and she downed the bitter liquid. The warm rush of mana followed, and closing her eyes, she willed the newly replenished power down through her arms until she could feel it in her palms. When she opened her eyes, she looked at the wound, then up at Nathaniel, who was propped up on his elbows, watching her with a surprisingly alert gaze. "Hold still," she told him.

Healing was a relatively new skill for her - she'd only learned it while living in Kirkwall. Anders had shown her the basic spells, helped her figure out how to channel her magic into the proper form, but it was never going to be her specialty. Still, she was grateful for Anders' lessons every time she went out into battle; she could at least perform some field healing to keep everyone alive and moving. With a deep breath, she focused on Nathaniel's wound and held her hands an inch or two above his skin. It still felt a little weird - her forearms prickled, as if she'd been sleeping on her arms. She could taste the metallic tang of blood at the back of her throat, and the bits of poison she pulled from the wound felt like tiny flames shooting through her bloodstream. As she watched, Nathaniel's skin knitted itself back together until a jagged pink line formed under her hands. "That is always so cool," Sigrun said from above.

Nathaniel's thigh was still covered in blood; Bethany frowned and bent down to inspect the area around the new scar. "I'm always paranoid I'll forget something," she said. "Is there anything else that got cut or poisoned?"

She wiped away some of the smeared blood and checks, but to her relief, she couldn't see anything more than a few poison-less scratches in his skin. She was just about to declare him clean when Nathaniel made a strangled noise. Concerned, she looked up at him. His eyes were shut tightly, and for some reason, Oghren started snickering behind her. "What?" she asked.

"Bethany," Nathaniel said, his voice hoarse, "if you're done, please move."

"What?"

"Bethany," he repeated, more insistently. "You need to move. Before I embarrass myself."

"What?" she repeated, thoroughly confused. Until she looked back down and realized her hand was resting on the inside of this thigh, perilously close to the place where his leg met his groin. Also, she was bent over at just the right angle for her face to hover just inches above his …

Face flaming, she sat up and snatched her hand away. "Oh. Sorry."

Oghren and Sigrun both lost it. While their laughter echoed throughout the cavern, Bethany barely heard Nathaniel mutter, "Under different circumstances, that would have ended differently." His eyes were still shut, so Bethany couldn't quite tell if she was meant to hear the comment or not. Still, her brain helpfully supplied her with an image of a totally different circumstance, one that involved less blood and even less clothing, and Nathaniel's voice groaning for much more _interesting _reasons.

She bit her lip and shook the image out of her head. "Now that we're all sufficiently amused," she said primly, wiping her hands on her leggings and sitting back on her heels, "is everyone well enough to head back to the Keep? Before the darkspawn find us again, preferably?"

With a groan, Nathaniel sat up and, after a moment, nodded. Bethany stood and held out her hands to help pull him to his feet. Luckily, he was mobile enough that his weight didn't overwhelm her; still, he wavered on his feet and slung and arm around her shoulders to steady himself. He felt warm and heavy against her side, and some traitorous female parts of her responded without her permission. "Oh, come on, Beth," she muttered.

"What?" Nathaniel stared down at her as he steadied himself.

"Nothing." She stepped away. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything else?"

He looked at her for a moment, long enough to have Bethany shifting from one foot to another and fighting another blush. "You have no idea," he finally said under his breath.

As they made their way back home, Bethany stole occasional glances at Nathaniel, considering. _Oh, I have ideas. Lots of them. _

And maybe, just maybe, when they got back, she'd have the nerve to tell him all about them.


End file.
